


the terrible things you think

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac is starting to take a liking to sleeping in Combeferre's bed. Which is a bit inconvenient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the terrible things you think

Courfeyrac closed the door, slowly, careful not to wake anyone up. He’d stayed out so late that it was early. Enjolras would most likely get up in about two hours, grumble and groan a lot and then pour a huge jug of coffee down his throat so he could study. Then he’d get distracted replying to ridiculous comments under news articles.

In the darkness of their hallway, Courfeyrac kicked off his shoes and made for his room. He was hungry, but he didn’t want to risk waking anyone up. Correction: He didn’t want to wake Enjolras up. Because Enjolras had to study. But Combeferre didn’t and there was still a small strip of light under Combeferre’s door, which was why Courfeyrac passed the door of his own room and quietly opened the door of Combeferre’s.

“Combeferre?” Courfeyrac whispered.

Combeferre, of course, was fast asleep. He hadn’t pulled the curtains shut and the bedside lamp was on. Still wearing his sweatpants and his favorite uni sweater, he’d fallen asleep with his book on his chest and notes scattered all over his bed. Courfeyrac slipped into the room and pushed the door shut. He gathered up the notes and put them down on the desk, then he pulled the book out from under Combeferre’s hand.

And, okay, it was five o’clock in the morning and a good friend would turn off the bedside lamp and go to his own room. Courfeyrac prided himself in being a good friend. But he didn’t want to go to his own room and crawl into his ice-cold bed.

Courfeyrac leaned over Combeferre and poked at his upper arm. “Combeferre.”

Combeferre jerked awake, flailing and nearly hitting Courfeyrac in the face. “What the– Courfeyrac, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

“Why are you staring at me like that, then?”

“Can you…” Courfeyrac shrugged off his jacked and let it drop to the floor. “Scoot over a bit?”

“Seriously?” Combeferre blinked at his alarm clock. “Did you just get home?”

“No,” Courfeyrac said. “Maybe.”

“Fine,” Combeferre mumbled and made space for Courfeyrac. “Did you have fun?” He rubbed his eyes. “Well, obviously you did, because it’s five in the morning and you just got back.”

“You should have come.”

“I read an excellent book,” Combeferre muttered and wiggled under the covers.

Courfeyrac peeled off his jeans and joined him. “I see how it is. An excellent book is surely more exciting than a nice evening out with your bestest friend in the entire world.”

Combeferre pulled the sheets up and made sure that Courfeyrac was tucked in. “I’m sure you had a good time without me.”

“I never have fun when you’re not there.”

Combeferre snorted. “Turn off the light?”

“Honestly,” Courfeyrac said and switched off the lamp, “Joly and Bossuet were all over Musichetta all night and Bahorel was texting Feuilly. And I didn’t have enough money for drinks. And I didn’t find anyone to buy me drinks either.”

“I can hardly believe,” Combeferre yawned, “that you couldn’t find anyone to buy you a drink.”

“Shocking, I know. _You_ would have bought me a drink if you’d been there.”

Combeferre only hummed in reply. He would have.

Inching a little closer, Courfeyrac said, “Combeferre?”

“Hm?”

Not awake enough to have a proper conversation. Courfeyrac wasn’t tired, but Combeferre was on a good way back to being fast asleep. “Never mind. Good night.”

Combeferre made a sleepy noise.

For a fleeting moment, Courfeyrac felt strangely light. His stomach gave a twinge. He should have found himself something to eat before he’d gone to bed after all.

* * *

“I’m tired.”

“How about you go and be tired in your own bed,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac bat his his eyelashes at him. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said in his _don’t be ridiculous voice_. “I love you, but I love you even more when you don’t fall asleep in my bed.”

Courfeyrac would have liked to say that his cheeks didn’t start burning whenever Combeferre said things like that. The problem was that they’d been friends since kindergarten and saying _I love you_ wasn’t something they held back on. Courfeyrac hadn’t noticed how often they did until recently. The fact that his face started to feel tingly whenever it happened was also a recent development. Courfeyrac wasn’t sure what to do with that just yet.

So he was lounging in Combeferre’s bed and playing with the strings of Combeferre’s sweater while he read science journals. Sometimes he read a sentence out loud, sometimes part of a sentence, and most of the time Courfeyrac had no idea what it was all about, but he got excited because Combeferre was so excited.

There were candy wrappers strewn all over the bed, an empty plate between their feet and it was the sort of mess that could one hundred percent be traced back to Courfeyrac. Combeferre’s messes had more to do with books and loose sheets of paper and failed kitchen experiments that ended with marinara sauce on every surface.

“I don’t wanna move.”

“You’re not sleeping here.”

“But what if I am?”

“No,” Combeferre said, but there was nothing stern or even serious about it.

“Why?”

“Because if you sleep here, you’ll fall asleep over here,” Combeferre pointed at the side of the bed that Courfeyrac was currently lazing around on, “and then you’ll suddenly, without a warning, decide that you like my side a lot better, so you’ll try to push me out of my own bed. Which is incredibly rude, especially because you have a lovely bed yourself and it’s right there on the other side of that wall.”

“Hm.” Courfeyrac turned over, candy wrappers rustling. “Read more of that science stuff to me.”

“Can you at least get rid of those chocolate wrappers and the plate before you fall asleep on them?”

Courfeyrac dutifully got rid of the plate and grabbed a handful of candy wrappers and dumped them on Combeferre’s nightstand. “Better?”

Combeferre sighed and started reading to him about some mysterious bug species that would probably take over the planet and kill them all someday. He closed his eyes. Combeferre should probably get a job reading audiobooks. He had a lovely voice. Deep and soft and gentle.

Before he fell asleep, Courfeyrac thought that he might have felt Combeferre’s fingers running through his hair. He smiled into his pillow.

* * *

Courfeyrac was a terrible person. He was a terrible, horrible, despicable person. A despicable person who did terrible things and who’d just struggled to fit their key into the lock of their front door for a good five minutes.

He wasn’t really sure what he was doing. A lot of things didn’t make sense to him. Combeferre didn’t make sense to him. Combeferre with his hands and his hair and his glasses and his voice. Courfeyrac couldn’t be in love with Combeferre. He couldn’t. But that didn’t change that he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up against him and wrap his arms around him and wake up next to him. He wanted Combeferre to be the first person he saw when he woke up in the morning. Which was a terrible thing to want.

Courfeyrac slipped into Combeferre’s room, feeling his way over to the bed in the darkness and flopping down on the end of the mattress.

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre mumbled.

“I’m a terrible person.”

Combeferre shifted, then the bedside lamp turned on. He squinted at Courfeyrac. “Are you drunk?”

“Slightly.” Courfeyrac stared at Combeferre, hair tousled and eyes bleary. For a split-second there were two of him. “No, actually… tremendously.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, that’s what I’ve been saying. I’m a terrible person.”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said softly.

Courfeyrac wanted to hate him for being so lovely. Instead he loved him for being so lovely, which didn’t make him feel better in the slightest. “Everything is terrible.”

“What’s wrong?” Combeferre pulled at the sheets without waiting for an answer and made room for Courfeyrac. “Come here.”

Courfeyrac moved, sluggishly, not sure if he wanted to or not, because he was a terrible person who was feeling things that shouldn’t be felt. Combeferre pulled the sheets around the both of them and wrapped an arm around Courfeyrac.

“Did something happen?” Combeferre asked.

“No. Yes. Not really.” Courfeyrac hid his face in Combeferre’s shirt. This wasn’t the first time he was cuddling Combeferre, this really wasn’t the first time, but it felt like it was, and Courfeyrac would never be able to let go of Combeferre again. Except that he’d have to and then he wouldn’t be able to look at him ever again, because looking at him would remind Courfeyrac of what a terrible person he was.

Combeferre squeezed him tightly. “Okay,” he said. He reached over Courfeyrac and turned the light off. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” Fingers curled into Courfeyrac’s hair. “But you’re not a terrible person, no matter what did or didn’t happen.”

This was why Courfeyrac was friends with Combeferre. Because Combeferre could say things like that and Courfeyrac wouldn’t doubt him for a second. And because Combeferre was pretty much the best person on this planet. Closely followed by Enjolras, who was also the best person on this planet, but in an entirely different way. Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if there could be two best people on this planet. Combeferre would have an answer for him if he asked, but saying words was difficult after so many shots of tequila.

“I kissed someone,” Courfeyrac eventually mumbled into the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac whispered. “It was terrible.”

Combeferre, for some reason, laughed. “And that’s why you’re a terrible person? Because you kissed someone and didn’t enjoy it?”

“No,” Courfeyrac said. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. He bought me a tequila. And afterwards I bought myself a few more tequilas.”

The really terrible thing, though, was that Courfeyrac had closed his eyes and thought of someone else. _Terrible_.

He couldn’t be in love with Combeferre.

* * *

He was in love with Combeferre. And Courfeyrac had not yet found a healthy way of dealing with it or even a reasonable explanation for the _how_ s and _why_ s, but he knew that wishing his feelings away wouldn’t do any good. Acting on them wouldn’t do any good either, so he was currently in an awkward place between wanting to be close to Combeferre and wanting to stay away from him so things wouldn’t get worse than they already were.

Which was why he was currently engaged in a silent debate with himself. Courfeyrac was standing in the middle of the hallway, between his door and Combeferre’s. It wasn’t late, Combferre was still awake. Enjolras was in the kitchen, grumbling angrily, his blood 95% coffee.

In the end, Courfeyrac’s irrational mind pushed him towards Combeferre’s door. Courfeyrac went all too willingly.

“Not your bed,” Combeferre muttered when Courfeyrac slipped into bed with him.

“I know.”

“How was the movie?”

“You would have hated it,” Courfeyrac said and pulled the sheets up to his chin. It was cold outside and it was cold in their apartment and Courfeyrac feared that he might never be warm again.

“See, that’s why I didn’t come.” Combeferre closed his laptop and carefully put it aside. “How’s Grantaire?”

“Mopey, because Enjolras didn’t come. Not that he said anything about him.”

Combeferre laughed. “They’ll figure things out.”

“Yeah.”

Eyeing Courfeyrac, Combeferre said, “You’re not going to move, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You’re going to sleep here.”

“Yep,” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre’s bed wasn’t even that comfortable and snuggling up to Combeferre at night definitely wasn’t doing anything for his constantly confused state, but it was cold. “It’s freezing in my bed.” Not that he’d gone anywhere near his bed since this morning, he just knew.

“We should get you an electric blanket,” Combeferre said and put an arm arm around Courfeyrac.

“You’re just fine,” Courfeyrac said.

“Are you going to sleep in your clothes?”

“Why, do you want me to take them off?” Courfeyrac asked. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so suggestive, or maybe it just sounded suggestive to him because of his, well, _situation_ , because he would have said something like that no matter how he felt about Combeferre.

Combeferre blinked at him. It took Courfeyrac a second to realize that usually he would laugh about it. For a moment, Courfeyrac thought Combeferre might tell him to go to his own room after all. “Can’t be comfortable to sleep in your jeans,” Combeferre said. There was something foreign in his voice. No joking around, no making fun of Courfeyrac because he took off his clothes at any chance he got.

Courfeyrac quickly wiggled out of his jeans, but promised himself that he’d keep his distance from now on. Combeferre had definitely looked uncomfortable just now.

* * *

The problem with keeping his distance was that they still lived in the same apartment. They still ate together more often than not, they still watched movies together, they still went out together. Enjolras had noticed, how could he not, something was seriously off-kilter, even though Courfeyrac tried his hardest not to let it show. Enjolras watched them like a hawk, but didn’t ask any questions. Not yet at least.

“You’re really heavy,” Enjolras said, gripping Courfeyrac more tightly, “are you being heavy on purpose?”

Courfeyrac was definitely not being heavy on purpose, but they’d got caught up at Louison’s birthday party at the Musain and there had been free drinks. And since Enjolras wasn’t a huge fan of drinks, whether they were free or not, Courfeyrac had had to deal with twice the amount of free drinks. And now walking was difficult. Not so difficult that he couldn’t do it anymore, but he was tipsy enough that he’d rather hold on to Enjolras.

“We’re almost there,” Courfeyrac said. “And I did it for you. I did.”

“I know,” Enjolras said. Courfeyrac could hear the smile in his voice.

Enjolras managed to manoeuver him up the stairs and into their apartment where they came across Combeferre, ready for bed and slightly disheveled. There was no better point in time to come across Combeferre, to be honest. Courfeyrac loved his Combeferre slightly disheveled.

“Could you take him for a second?” Enjolras asked.

“I can hear you,” Courfeyrac said and let go of him. “And I can walk and stand and… do everything without you, thank you very much.” He stared marching towards his room, miscalculating how quickly Combeferre had reacted and walked right into him.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we,” Combeferre muttered.

Courfeyrac let him do his thing, because Combeferre was astoundingly good at taking care of tipsy or drunk people – unless he was one of them. 

The second Courfeyrac dropped into bed, after Combeferre had guided him out of his shoes and his jacket and his jeans, he realized that something wasn’t right. “This isn’t my bed.”

“I know,” Combeferre said dryly. “Just want to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m not drunk. And I know that’s exactly what a drunk person would say, but I’m fine, look, I’m touching my nose. I can walk in a straight line, do you want me to show you?”

“No, just stay right there.”

“I’m not drunk. Pinky promise.”

“It’s fine,” Combeferre said, as if he was the one who had to assure him that he didn’t have a problem.

Courfeyrac was the one with a problem. He said _things_ when he was tipsy. He hadn’t forgotten the infamous tequila night a couple of weeks ago. Courfeyrac would really rather not hate himself tomorrow morning.

“Just go to sleep.”

Courfeyrac huffed and buried his face in a pillow.

Combeferre padded out of the room, talked to Enjolras out in the hallway, Courfeyrac could hear them both laugh, then he was back and the lights turned off and the mattress dipped and Combeferre was lying next to him.

It wasn’t late enough for Courfeyrac to be tired, he wasn’t drunk enough to pass out right away, so he listened to Combeferre shift and sigh and find a comfortable position.

Courfeyrac turned over and ended up with his face inches from Combeferre’s. He was looking at him, his eyes dark. The light that filtered in through the drawn curtains wasn’t bright enough for Courfeyrac to read the expression on his face.

“Good night,” Courfeyrac whispered.

“Good night,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac didn’t want to scoot any closer, but if he moved his fingers just a little bit– Nope. He was done thinking terrible things.

Enjolras was still rummaging in the bathroom, a car passed, Combeferre’s alarm clock ticked loudly, and eventually Combeferre’s breathing evened out. Courfeyrac peeled off the sheets. He couldn’t sleep here tonight.

Just when he’d stuck his foot out from under the covers, Combeferre turned over, his arm snaking around Courfeyrac’s waist.

“Seriously?” Courfeyrac hissed. “Make it a little harder for me, why don’t you.”

Combeferre, unsurprisingly, didn’t reply. He just made another one of those sleepy noises that Courfeyrac had come to love so much.

“I just wish I could stop wanting to kiss you,” Courfeyrac whispered into the darkness, “is that too much to ask?”

Combeferre stirred. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac said and pulled his foot back under the covers. He wasn’t going anywhere.

* * *

At half past five in the morning, Courfeyrac made his escape. Combeferre didn’t notice.

Courfeyrac crawled into his own ice-cold bed, wondering what he’d done to deserve this. He’d just never come out of his room again. That’d be fine. He’d stay here and never talk to Combeferre ever again.

He didn’t fall back asleep.

Courfeyrac could hear Enjolras and Combeferre as they both got up, could hear the murmur of their voices in the kitchen as they had breakfast. There was a knock on his door around ten and Combeferre tentatively called his name, but he didn’t come inside when Courfeyrac didn’t answer.

It was Enjolras who came waltzing into his room at noon. “You’re not dead. That’s something.”

Courfeyrac huffed. “I’m fine. Just a headache, no need to worry.”

“You weren’t that drunk.”

“Headaches exist separate from hangovers, you know?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Enjolras asked. He sat down next to him and felt his forehead. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Soup?”

“I know how much you love making soup, but I don’t need anything, I swear. And please tell Combeferre not to make a fuss. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

That cup of tea was delivered a couple of minutes later together with a sandwich that had Combeferre’s name written all over it, but thankfully Combeferre himself didn’t make an appearance.

“We’re in the living room if you need anything.”

Courfeyrac hummed, glad that Enjolras didn’t hover. After glaring at that sandwich for a minute, Courfeyrac finally devoured it because he was hungry and since he wasn’t going to leave his room until Combeferre left for class tomorrow morning, he couldn’t go to the kitchen either. Maybe when Enjolras and Combeferre had gone to bed. His plan worked until he really needed to go to the bathroom. At least he didn’t run into anyone when he ventured out of his room.

He spent the afternoon playing games on his phone, then he watched a movie on his laptop until the battery died – his charger was in the living room – and started reading a book. A day could be incredibly long when you had nowhere to go, but being bored was still preferable to facing Combeferre right now.

Courfeyrac really needed to get a grip. Technically, he knew that he couldn’t avoid Combeferre forever. He couldn’t pretend that he had a migraine until the end of time.

Enjolras checked on him one more time in the evening, brought him some soup and a bottle of water – “Combeferre says that it’s important that you stay hydrated” – and looked at him inquiringly for an uncomfortably long time, but Courfeyrac didn’t budge and Enjolras didn’t pry.

He was almost relieved when he heard the telltale noises of people getting ready for bed a while later. When he’d heard two doors click shut, Courfeyrac tiptoed across the hall to the bathroom, took a shower, and glared at himself in the mirror a little bit, because he certainly deserved to be glared at.

When he got back to his room, Combeferre was sitting on his bed like he belonged there.

Courfeyrac, for a moment, considered running away. “What… are you okay?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Combeferre said. He looked about as uneasy as Courfeyrac felt.

Courfeyrac closed the door and joined Combeferre on the bed. There was no running away from this. “I’m okay,” Courfeyrac said.

“You don’t look okay.”

Sticking his bare feet under the sheets, Courfeyrac sighed. “Don’t worry.”

Combeferre reached out, cupping Courfeyrac’s face with his hand, his thumb slowly running along his cheekbone. “Courfeyrac.”

“Yes?”

“Do you really want to kiss me?”

Maybe it wasn’t too late to run away after all. “You heard?” Courfeyrac grit out. He truly was a terrible human being.

“I heard.” Combeferre had heard and he didn’t even sound mad. He didn’t look mad either. Because he was Combeferre and he was going to be all mature about this and Courfeyrac didn’t think he could take it.

Courfeyrac bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I can move out. In fact, I’m going to move to another continent.”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said again. And the _don’t be ridiculous_ voice had made a reappearance. “Hold on for a minute, will you?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you, too.”

It took Courfeyrac all the self-control he had left in himself not to say something like _you have got to be fucking kidding me_.

He leaned in instead, and planted a soft kiss on Combeferre’s lips, and then another one, and Combeferre pulled him close and suddenly things didn’t seem so terrible after all.


End file.
